


Echoes of yesterday

by Elisexyz



Series: We could build a house [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-29 07:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20078647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: The owner of the planation was a little annoyed when the doctor declared that he’d need a couple of days of rest to avoid bleeding to his death, probably cross at the loss of two newly acquired hands – James doesn’t like him one bit and he has taken a mental note to set his stupid wig on fire on his way out of there –, but he allowed it, because apparently letting their prisoners die is not something that they are in the habit of doing.How decent of them.





	Echoes of yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> Just cuteness because I was in the mood. It's part of a collection, in theory, but it can be read as a stand-alone.

James is ridiculously tired. He only worked in the morning, long enough for Thomas to realize that he is a mess of dirty bandages and bruises held together by sheer stubbornness and half a good night’s sleep.

Predictably, Thomas declared himself ‘baffled’ at his ‘recklessness’, crossed his arms and looked at him like he’s most idiotic idiot to ever cross his path, said that ‘here they treat injures like civilized men, for god’s sake’, and sent out for the doctor, whom James will see ‘even if he has to be physically dragged all the way to him’.

Honestly, James was too busy grinning at him like a fool to even think of protesting.

(It did occur to him that he was probably injured enough to be excused from labour for the day, hell, maybe for a _few_ days, but he knew that _Thomas_ would be working, so it wasn’t in his best interest to get back to bed, was it?)

Thomas wasn’t allowed to stay during the visit, which unnerved James far more than he allowed himself to show, but he was assured that the doctor is a good man and friends with Thomas, so he soldiered through the visit, even with his legs twitching to get back out.

(“I hope you being here means that I never have to hear stories about you ever again, I suspect I’ve had enough for a lifetime,” the doctor said, eyebrows raised and amusement leaking in his tone, and for a second James relaxed, taking some sort of pride into Thomas having spoken of him enough times to apparently get _annoying_.)

The owner of the planation was a little annoyed when the doctor declared that he’d need a couple of days of rest to avoid bleeding to his death, probably cross at the loss of two newly acquired hands – James doesn’t like him one bit and he has taken a mental note to set his stupid wig on fire on his way out of there –, but he allowed it, because apparently letting their prisoners die is not something that they are in the habit of doing.

How decent of them.

James spent the whole day dozing off in an empty room, Thomas coming up every now and then, whenever he has a break from working.

So, really, James doesn’t have much of a reason to be tired. He has been sustaining ridiculous rhythms of work during his captaincy, he should not be this tired after having done little more than sleeping all day.

Nevertheless, when he wakes up with his head in Thomas’ lap, his brain is annoyingly foggy and he can only think of getting _more_ sleep. A lot more sleep.

“Good afternoon,” Thomas says, quietly, running his fingers through his hair – so to speak: there isn’t much of it left.

James mutters his acknowledgement, nuzzling against his tigh and keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“I regret to inform you that you will have to get up for dinner,” Thomas tells him, his tone fond, after a few moments of silence. “We are not allowed to bring food in the rooms.”

James makes a noise of agreement, to which Thomas chuckles and falls silent. He rather enjoys the bubble that they are currently existing in.

Of course, Thomas proceeds to burst it soon enough.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, quietly, his fingers playing with the edge of one of the bandages around James’ torso.

The answer he gets is a sigh. “It’s a long story.” A long, messy story, of ten years chasing a future that was taken away by the man he’d come to trust above all others – and doesn’t that shatter something inside of him every time the thought resurfaces. That loss, though, got him back to Thomas, and Thomas is worth all of it. “I fought some men. I won.”

“Okay.”

James has never known Thomas to give up on pursuing an argument, but this time he seems to understand that he shouldn’t push, for the moment at least. There will come a day when he will ask for more, probably, but James would much rather live in denial of it. Were it his choice, he’d leave the past where it belongs and enjoy the present – and doesn’t that sound strange.

“So,” Thomas eventually says, his tone light in a clear indication that he wants to break the tension. “What is this?”

It takes a few moments for James to realize that his fingers are hovering on his arm, around his tattoo.

“I— well, I was supposed to blend in—” He remembers Miranda’s look of exasperation when she pierced his ear and he categorically refused to let her _stab_ the other one too, her amusement when he eventually came home with a little moon tattooed on his arm, as she’d correctly guessed that he wouldn’t have stood still long enough for anything bigger. “You know, with the other pirates.”

“Oh, I see.” Thomas sounds like he might just laugh in his face. “Of course this little moon is— absolutely terrifying. Dangerous. It really adds to your image.”

James bites back a grin. “Shut up.”

“No, no, seriously, the _sight_ of it is—”

“I will smash a pillow on your face, I swear.”

Thomas laughs, and James can’t be the least bit offended by his mockery.

“You know what else makes you look fearsome?”

James sighs, briefly closing his eyes in preparation for whatever it is that he’s about to say. “What?” he prompts, knowing that he’ll regret asking.

“Freckles,” Thomas declares, solemnly. “You have so _many_ of them!”

James blinks, rolling over so that he’s facing him and he can frown properly at him. “Why do you sound surprised? You knew that before.” In fact, Thomas was the kind of sap who would spend ages babbling about constellations mapped on his skin, ignoring James’ utter embarrassment.

“Yes, but now there are so many _more_,” Thomas declares, delighted.

“Ten years of sun,” James mutters, as an explanation, but he’s ignored.

“I am going to count them,” Thomas announces, resolutely.

“Oh, good god—”

“Roll over, come on!” He gives him a slight push of encouragement, and James rolls his eyes but he complies, a smile tugging at his lips at this ridiculousness.

“You are going to be there all day,” James warns, even though he’s fairly sure it will fall on deaf ears. It isn’t the first time something like this has happened, after all.

“Shush, I’m counting.”

James laughs a little at the fingertips lightly touching his back every two seconds, and he shakes his head lightly. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

Thomas stops for a moment. “Neither have you,” he eventually declares, an affectionate smile detectable from his tone.

In that moment, it isn’t all that difficult for James to believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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